


Anything

by solversonlou



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consent Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Sex for Favors, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solversonlou/pseuds/solversonlou
Summary: Set during 19/11/2020. Thompson gives Callum the opportunity to have more time to get him Phil. Callum will do anything to protect Ben.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/DI Steve Thompson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Anything

Thompson has got the rookie exactly where he wants him, firmly under his thumb and squirming like a rat in a trap. No matter how he tries to worm his way out, he's stuck, and Thompson's sick sense of power has him indulging in every minute of the younger man's suffering.

Highway is somehow easy and hard to manipulate all at once, his sense of loyalty all over the shop, pulling him from one side to another. Thompson would feel bad for him if he didn't think he was so stupid, so unbelievably gullible. 

A good copper, that's all Callum wants to be. No such thing. Even Thompson knows this. At least he's self aware about his corruption. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. Got to put on a good front.

There's no good front with him when it comes to the rookie. He'd seen a weakness in him, that connection to a Mitchell, and had dug his claws straight in. He'd do anything, and he means anything, to get to Phil Mitchell, the palpable criminal that he'd wanted to capture for so long. Even if it means ruining the life of a junior copper.

"I'm not lying to you," Callum lies. He's surprisingly terrible at lying, despite the fact that he'd lied for so many years. Thompson is vaguely aware of the ex-fiance. Some bird who was on trial for killing a bloke. Seems like the rosy cheeked copper attracted danger. "I promise you, I can get you what you want."

"Can you?" Thompson scoffs, shaking his head. He's circling the younger man like a shark, watching him squirm as he sits in the interview chair, lip split as he begs. The sight of him, scared and desperate, it riles something within Thompson. "See, I don't think you can, Callum. You keep telling me you can, but you never quite deliver, do ya?"

Swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, Callum opens those pretty pink lips of his, and Thompson's blood rushes hot. The rookie exhales, face like a kicked puppy dog, so innocent, so easy to manipulate, "I'll do it. I'll do anything, please. I'll get Phil. I just need more time."

Callum's teary gaze meets the DI's, and there's something, something about the way the older man looks at him, a shift in his gaze. It feels like a warning. Callum's stomach twists in knots. 

"Anything?" Thompson's voice lowers. 

Tongue darting across his split lip, Callum nods, wide eyed and pleading as he whispers, "Yes, sir. Anything."

To say he hadn't considered this would be a lie. Thompson had no patience for men like Callum. Thought blokes who were into stuff like that were perverts. And yet, when he'd clapped eyes on the young copper, he'd instantly felt something, a pull. 

Such an innocent soul, with just enough fire and determination when it came to protecting things he cared for. Thompson wanted to ruin it. He wanted to have the boy as a lapdog, bending to his will. 

He'd assumed when he found out Callum and the Mitchell boy were involved that Callum would be the one in charge. He'd wondered if the wrong'un had ever given it to him, ever ruined him like Thompson wants to ruin him.

That mouth, those pink flushed cheeks stained with tears. Imagine putting that to waste.

"Get on your knees," Thompson instructs.

Callum blinks at him, dumbfounded for a moment, processing the words. At first, he doesn't think that he's heard him right, but then he realises, slowly, as Thompson's eyes bore into him expectantly, that he'd heard him just fine.

The PC doesn't question him. Thompson had at least expected a confused _"What?"_ , but Callum just complies. _Of course._ He'd do anything for that Mitchell scum. Thompson doesn't know what the lad sees in him.

"I'm sorry," Callum apologises. He actually apologises for this, like he's the one doing something wrong. 

Thompson almost laughs as he approaches the man, places a hand on the crown of his head. His other hand reaches to the curve of his cheek, thumb swiping across a stray tear that rolls down it. His lips curl into a smirk, looking down at the man on his knees before him. He looks beautiful like this, complacent, trying to please him. 

Thompson already feels heat in his gut as he curls his fingers into the gelled hair on the top of Callum's head. He watches as the younger man's eyes flutter shut, lashes dark and wet against the pink of his cheeks. 

"You'd really do this?" Thompson asks, the pad of his thumb tracing the bow of Callum's top lip, watching as his lips part, a hot shudder of breath leaving him. "You'd do this just to protect your little boyfriend? That scum?"

Callum's jaw clenches, his wet lips closing around Thompson's thumb, tasting salt. He shakes his head as he pulls back slightly, "He ain't... he ain't scum."

"Hmm," Thompson hums, fingers tightening their grip in Callum's hair, tugging at the strands, forcing his chin to cock up towards him, face more exposed to him. "You keep telling yourself that, Highway. I'm sure he'll understand once I've had my way with you."

Callum chokes out a gasp, eyes screwed shut as Thompson's thumb presses deeper into his mouth. His tongue, slick and hot, curls around the digit, and Thompson's head rushes at the feeling of it. 

He can't quite believe how easy this was, to get the rookie on his knees, mouth open and willing to do whatever it takes to protect his boyfriend.

"Bet he's a right sissy, in't he?" Thompson knows that mentioning the Mitchell even further isn't exactly smart. Callum's placid, but he isn't weak. He could bite back. He won't, though. He can't. "Won't give you a proper seeing to. Not like I can."

Callum's head is swimming. There's a pull in his gut, anger at the mention of Ben, fear at what Thompson could do if he fights back. _Shame._ So much shame at the fact that he's doing this, allowing the man to do this to him.

The thumb leaves Callum's mouth, and Callum lets out a soft noise, something that confuses himself. He hates himself, hates that when he opens his teary eyes and sees Thompson's fingers on his belt, that something inside of him stirs.

"Consider this a temporary payment," Thompson says, voice a low hum as he unbuckles his belt with one hand and strokes Callum's stubbled cheek with the other. "You give me this for now, I give you more time. And if you want more time, you're gonna have to give me this again. Do you understand?"

Callum's knees buckle, the thought of this being an ongoing thing rising the anxiety in his stomach. He doesn't know how to feel, what to think. He just wants to protect Ben. Just wants to make things right. Swallowing, he nods, looking up at Thompson, "Yes. Yes, sir."

Thompson's eyes flash dark, pulling himself out of the zipper of his trousers. He's hard already, and the whimper that leaves Callum when his gaze drops to him just makes it that much more good for him.

"Good boy," Thompson hums, thumb pressed to Callum's jaw, guiding him along as the younger man's mouth opens up to him. 

Callum doesn't know what he'd expected when he'd gotten on his knees, but he'd thought maybe Thompson would at least take this a little slowly, give him some time to relax. Stupid, really. The man was always angry, always trying to achieve a goal. Always using people.

Thompson grunts when he feels the back of Callum's throat around him, the tight, slick heat of his mouth already overwhelming. He couldn't have taken this slow even if he tried. Hell, he would have lost control and come across the lad's face before he even had a chance to slip his cock past his lips. (Not that Thompson was opposed to the idea. Callum would look pretty like that, all pink cheeked and red, wet lips, white painting his skin.)

It's erratic. Quick and messy, just like Thompson wants right now. Some part of him thinks that maybe if he makes this fast, Callum won't be reluctant to do it again. He can always lie, promise that he'll give Callum more time and then take it away from him. He's got that power over him.

Just look at him, on his knees, tears on his cheeks as he chokes around his cock. He's so willing. There for Thompson to take however he pleases. He wonders if Callum would let him fuck him properly. He's thought about it, those thick thighs wrapped around his hips.

Callum's struggling to breathe, Thompson can feel it in the way his throat restricts around him. Strangely, the younger man hasn't raised his hands to grip his wrists as a warning to stop. He's got his hands dangling at his sides. Thompson didn't even need to cuff him. 

Pulling back, Thompson groans as he watches drool spill over Callum's chin, his lips red from stretching around him. His cock twitches at the vision before him, missing the slick heat of his throat. He's close, dangerously so. His gaze drifts down the long length of Callum's crouched body, towards his lap. Damn those uniforms. Too bulky and thick. Thompson can't tell if the man's hard or not. 

"Sir..." Callum begins, voice raw. _How will he explain that to his boyfriend in the morning?_

"Trying to go back on our word, are we?" Thompson tuts, giving Callum's hair a good tug, arousing a gasp from the man.

Shaking his head, pain burning his scalp, Callum swallows around the rawness in his throat. He has to keep reminding himself who he's doing this for. Maybe if he closes his eyes tight enough he can imagine it's Ben during one of their rougher roleplays. Only, Ben grooms better than Thompson, and he doesn't taste like Thompson does, and he's playful, not unforgiving.

This is just sheer force, and somehow, some part of Callum is enjoying it. The way his cock is sitting heavy against the zipper of his trousers, leaking with pre-come, is testament to that. Call it Freudianism. Some need for praise from an older man, an authority figure, to do this to him. Wires crossing in his fire of a brain. _He's messed up._ His heart means well, but he's so far beyond messed up. He's in too deep now. 

"No, Sir," Callum insists. He opens his eyes, gazing up at his superior, half lidded, almost dazed. He looks beautiful. "I promise I'll be good."

"Yes, yes you will," Thompson exhales, pressing back into Callum's mouth in one swift motion.

It's ruthless. Thompson's blunt nails dig into Callum's scalp. Callum splutters as tears and spit drip to the carpet of the interview room. Callum can taste blood on his tongue from where he'd been punch. The salt from the pre-come dripping down Thompson's cock stinging his lip.

Callum is so good at this. Thompson knows that he's only recently come out. He wonders if Ben Mitchell is the only person he's done this to. If so, it's a crying damn shame. And yet, there's the burning feeling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach that Thompson couldn't be the first person to open him up like this.

Thompson can tell that he's getting close, heat rising in his abdomen, toes curling in his shoes. He'll kill Callum if he gets spit or come on his suit. Can't let their colleagues know what they've been up to. The rookie is under him and him alone.

The tight, wet heat of Callum's throat and the noises he makes, the desperate little choking sounds, the odd sob. He's hurting him, he knows he is. He'll leave his throat raw, bloody nail marks in his scalp. He grabs Callum's face, revels in the way his cheeks hollow around him, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. Callum can blame that on Kazemi. Tell his little boyfriend his plan had gotten him roughed up. Make the Mitchell feel bad.

"Good boy," Thompson grunts, looking down at him, still fucking into his mouth. 

Callum groans, eyes rolling to the back of his skull, and it's when Thompson notices that he's touching himself, palm pressed to the front of his trousers, does he finally go over the edge.

The tight ring of muscle of Callum's throat restricts around Thompson's cock as he comes, biting the back of his free hand to stifle the noise that leaves him. He uses the hand gripping Callum's hair to steady himself as he floods the younger man's throat, spilling hot and hard into him as Callum gags, muffled by the heavy weight of him.

Only when Callum has swallowed around him, does Thompson pull back. Callum's head lulls as Thompson releases his grip on his hair, and he coughs, saliva dribbling down his chin along with the blood from his lip. Gasping for air, Callum tries to swallow, catch his breath, but it's difficult when his throat is burning. 

He's stopped rocking his hips, like he's just realised the reality of the situation and snapped out of some sort of trance. He feels sick, shame washing over him in hot waves, cheeks as red as his wet mouth.

Callum almost flinches when he feels Thompson's fingers on him again, tugging at his shirt. Callum watches, head swaying, knees aching as Thompson uses the material of his shirt to clean himself up. His stomach twists in knots. Callum wants to throttle the man, but he can't. 

"Well done, PC Highway," Thompson says, clearing his throat as he straightens himself up, tucking himself away. "You've earned yourself an extra week to get me what I want."

Brows furrowing, Callum tries to stand up, but his knees buckle under him. He grabs onto the back of the interview chair for support, knuckles white, shoulders squared as he speaks through gritted teeth, "That's not enough time."

"I decide how much time you get," Thompson spits, turning around, jabbing a finger in Callum's face. There it is again, that anger. "You get me Phil Mitchell in three weeks, or I'm putting Ben inside."

Callum's gaze drops, avoiding looking in Thompson's eyes. He feels dirty. Like a layer of filth is coating him. Thompson has poisoned him. He's got into his head and now he's got into him in ways that no one outside of Ben should. Callum's mouth waters like he's going to be sick, but he holds it down, can still taste the salt of Thompson's come.

What's worse is that he's vaguely aware that he's still half hard.

"Either that," Thompson says, voice low as he inches closer to the man, his fingertips pressed to Callum's jawline, forcing him to meet his eye. "Or you pay for more time. It's your choice."

The rage, burning inside of Callum, wants so desperately to spill out. He wants to crack Thompson's head against the interview table and leave him to die on the floor. He could frame someone they have in holding, say they got out and attacked Thompson. The cameras aren't on them. They didn't catch anything. 

He can't. He can't let the rage overtake him. He can't risk going to prison, losing Ben.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Highway?" Thompson asks, eyes boring into Callum's, burning a hole in the center of him.

Callum's knuckles crack as he squeezes his fingers into a fist. He wants to scream. Instead, he whispers, _"Yes, sir."_

**Author's Note:**

> this was written out of spite x
> 
> shout out to the anon user who posted the other thompson/callum fics for inspiring me you're a real one


End file.
